


The Star Beyond Tomorrow

by JeanGraham



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 17:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanGraham/pseuds/JeanGraham
Summary: Kirk's in a future where the Enterprise is a museum exhibit.





	The Star Beyond Tomorrow

The Star Beyond Tomorrow 

* * *

  
By Jean Graham   


The eye of the starship was dead. Once, it would have   
reflected the image of Polaris V, turning slowly beneath them.   
Now, yellow with age and road-mapped with tiny cracks, it stared   
blindly at its visitors. They were the first in many years.

"In her day, Yan, the Enterprise was known as the finest   
ship in her class." Dim lighting on the bridge of the ancient   
vessel did little to conceal the gleam of admiration in the   
curator's eyes. Her Orion companion was, however, less   
impressed.

With a derisive sound, he said, "I find it hard to believe   
this thing ever flew at all."

"She was one of the ships to first map this system over one-   
hundred years ago. And that was in a day when there were no   
interstellar transport beams. A time when there were still   
planets -- entire sectors -- in this galaxy unexplored."

Nonplussed, Yan surveyed the litter of the ancient control   
center. "Dr. Hart," he said evenly, "just keeping this thing in   
orbit is going to take planet-sized bites out of our allotment.   
My personal objection to hauling it out of dry dock and beaming it   
here may have been overruled, but now that it's here, would the   
Institute not be better served by putting it on display in a   
surface hangar like all the others? Why must--?"

She cut him off. "Because this ship hasn't touched surface   
once in its entire life and it isn't going to now. They built   
them in space back then. This one's going to stay there.   
Besides, I've always wanted an orbiting exhibit, and this is   
better than I'd dreamed. Yan, just wait till you've seen some of   
her log tapes. I'm having them all restored from the old Star   
Fleet Archives."

From one of many colored jewels on her wristband, a soft   
chime sounded. Touching one of the gems, which glowed bright   
amber, she responded, "Yes?"

A voice said, "Matheson here, Doctor. Your life support   
system is now fully stabilized, and I've got that old transporter   
unit partially operational if you'd like to take a look at it."

She sighed. "Gimme a rain check, Dick. I have a board   
meeting in five minutes."

"Will do."

With a nod to Yan, who imitated her action with his own   
band, she touched a second green jewel, and both their figures   
faded soundlessly from the bridge.

Engineer Matheson, ensconced in the transporter room amid an   
aurora of dicrystallide work lights, had been laboring for   
several hours with a small cluster of assistants to unravel the   
operating secrets of the obsolete transporter unit. By sheer   
guesswork, they had so far succeeded in sending part of an old   
chair to the surface. Unfortunately, they had not yet discovered   
how to bring the thing back again.

Matheson barked at the nearest technician. "Davies, where   
are those guys with the readouts on this thing?"

Davies shrugged. "They said they're having trouble locating   
the tapes. The originals for this unit weren't under Joseph.   
Weren't under Feinberg or Rugg either. Wanna take any other   
guesses who the original blueprinter might've been?"

Another tech spoke from the console. "Sir, I don't see why   
we don't just go with the Joseph blueprint off the history tape."

"No," Matheson muttered. "I want the original plans first.   
Tell them to look under Jefferies." Nodding, Davies retreated.

A throbbing hum began to emanate from the alcove just as the   
figure of Davies vanished from the room. When the whistle of   
old-style materialization followed, Matheson joined his   
technician at the console, supposing that they must at last have   
retrieved their lost chair.

Seconds later, he was forced to change the supposition.   
Whatever they had caught in the energy beam was definitely not a   
piece of furniture. In fact, it was beginning to look distinctly   
humanoid. When the image shimmered, trying feebly to solidify   
and failing, a tinge of panic threatened the pit of Matheson's   
stomach. He grabbed for the levers, mindless of the sickening   
squeal that resulted, and watched the glittering pillar pulsate,   
struggling to become something -- or someone.

"What is it?" The tech beside him had to shout over the   
noise.

Matheson fought the unfamiliar controls. "Hell if I know."   
As he spoke, the figure rippled like an indecisive heat wave and   
disappeared. "Whatever or whoever it is, we've still got him in   
the beam."

"We must've intercepted an interplanetary transport."

"That's impossible," Matheson growled. "Our transport beams   
don't operate anywhere near this frequency."

"No." The tech was studying a gauge on the readout panel.   
"But the transversals do."

  
Matheson looked suddenly horror-stricken. "Then we've got   
to pull it in." With renewed determination, he grasped the   
control levers and pulled, gratified when the sparkling panorama   
of energy particles reappeared and began to take on the form of a   
man.   
* * *

Somewhere on a grey, lethargic ocean, Kirk was floating.

_You'll have to shake this drowsiness,_ he told himself.   
_Where are you anyway? Open your eyes. Some white, sterile- _  
_looking room. Not aboard the_ Enterprise. Sunlight coming _  
_through a window. Planetside. You remember, those boring _  
_ground-breaking ceremonies for a new research institute and _  
_museum complex? On Polaris V. You left early, signaled Scotty to _  
_beam you up and... what? Can't remember. There were two faces _  
_somewhere. Voices. Maybe you dreamed that. Man and a woman. _  
_She was human, middle-aged, and he was an Orion. They were _  
_talking about -- what did they call it? -- transversal beams? _  
_Don't know what that is. Still don't know where you are, either, _  
_or how in heck you got here..._

"Captain?"

The voice jolted him awake, and his response was automatic.   
"Yes, Spock, what is it?" He blinked, muzzily becoming aware that   
he had not been dreaming. He was not aboard the Enterprise and   
the figure before him, though unmistakably Vulcan, was not Spock.

"I am Surat," the visitor informed him. "Chief historian   
for the Confederation Archives, Aerospace Division. I was   
summoned here soon after you were identified through the WCG."   
Kirk's blank look prompted him to add, "Our primary historical   
resource computer."

Kirk rubbed a still-aching forehead, striving to sit up in   
the bed. "Where's Spock?"

An unreadable something flickered in Surat's eyes for an   
instant. "It is difficult to accurately describe what has   
happened, Captain. You were accidentally intercepted by what we   
refer to as a transversal beam."

There was that word again. "A what?"

"It is a tool we use, though still largely experimental, for   
observing past cultures. A time portal of sorts, though that is   
grossly inaccurate. It enables us simply to observe without   
disturbing the past. At least, that is its normal function. One   
of our scientists was observing the celebration founding this   
Institute when he inadvertently intersected your transporter beam   
on an extremely narrow overlapping frequency."

Kirk fought to digest this flood of confusing information.   
Before he could, more was volunteered.

"There were further complications. The Enterprise is in   
orbit above us. When you were intercepted, it was also in orbit   
here, one-hundred-seventeen terrestrial years ago. Though the   
events were over a century apart, they were also simultaneous."

"A hundred and... " Kirk couldn't repeat the rest of it. He   
was still lost in a mad jumble of contradictions. This was the   
Polaris Institute, a century in the future. And what was that   
about the Enterprise in orbit?' Surat was continuing. "I was   
called here to investigate a process by which we hope to reverse   
the accident. You must, however, understand that there are   
certain... difficulties."

How well he knew. _We can't send you back,_ he heard himself   
saying to another man, long ago. _You know what the future looks _  
_like. If anyone else finds out they could change it, destroy it._   
But he had seen nothing here,

done nothing.

Someone else had come into the room: the woman he remembered   
from the 'dream.' "This,"Surat informed him, "is Dr. Hart,   
Polaris' head curator."

Her lined face erupted into an artificial smile. "As I'm   
sure Surat has explained," she said, "we're working on reversing   
your accident. We called him all the way in from the Celetar   
Colonies to work with us. He's the foremost authority on Star   
Fleet history in the Confederation."

Kirk wondered what that was, but knew better than to ask.   
"We will endeavor to make your stay here as comfortable as   
possible," Surat was saying. "You must, however, understand that   
we must take certain seemingly extreme precautions in order to   
insure that the timeline is not adversely affected."

Kirk nodded. "I understand."

Dr. Hart gave him a matronly admonition to get some more   
rest, and both of them left the room, leaving Kirk adrift in   
doubt. They had not sounded altogether convinced that this mess   
could actually be straightened out, and the explanations, of a   
necessity, had left a great deal to be desired. Kirk slipped   
from the bed and moved to the tall window, the only thing other   
than the bed to adorn the nondescript little room. He could see   
a jumble of connecting buildings beyond, all bathed in the red-   
orange light of Polaris' early evening. The color, he knew, was   
an atmospheric deception. From space, Polaris could be seen as a   
pulsating yellow super-giant dwarfing its half dozen natural   
satellites and making life there difficult with a four day   
variable cycle. Nevertheless, he had always considered it one of   
the most beautiful stars in the galaxy.

In a room not far from Kirk's, Paula Hart sat across a conference   
table from both Surat and the Orion Yan, studying a series of   
three-dimensional computer readouts that hung suspended in a blue   
orb over the table.

"Your information is contradictory, gentlemen."

"One or the other contingency must of course be in error,"   
Surat said. "A result of the disrupted time continuum. My   
initial research and the other follow-up reports all indicate   
that James T. Kirk died of cardiac arrest on the old Federation   
Hensley's Planet, at the age of 97."

"And Yan's readout claims he vanished while in transport to   
his ship, at age 37, and was never seen again. How and why   
should the computers disagree?"

"They do not," Yan said gruffly. "If the Vulcan will re-   
examine his comp banks, he will find that they, too, now agree   
with my own. It seems this Kirk has already changed history.   
Perhaps disastrously."

Surat's brow knit. "Yours was the more recent survey," he   
admitted. "But you are saying that the computer altered its own   
memory bank after the Captain was brought here. That is   
impossible."

With a rude gesture at the blue orb, Yan grunted, "See for   
yourself, Vulcan."

"I have already done so. But I am not convinced."

Yan was adamant. "The evidence is clear. So is our   
responsibility. The computer states that he never returned.   
Therefore, we must not return him!"

"An illogical conclusion," Surat countered. "Since, before,   
it clearly stated that he did live out his lifetime. The change   
in readout occurred too late. It must therefore be suspect."

Dr. Hart frowned. "Suspect? Why?"

With a careful look at Yan, Surat said, "It is possible the   
record was tampered with."

Yan's expression said more clearly than words that he would   
have enjoyed having Vulcan for breakfast. His intended retort   
was curtailed by Dr. Hart. "You will both re-examine your   
findings," she ordered, "and give me a full report no later than   
noon tomorrow."

Surat had voiced her own suspicion in the matter, though she   
could not imagine why Yan might wish to falsify information.   
There was one way to be certain. She would call in a link to the   
WCG, and check...

  
Hours later, Yan was summoned to the curator's quarters, and   
informed that his information was faulty. The Orion glowered at   
her.

"I do not know what you mean."

"Yes you do. And you know I expect better of a research   
engineer at this Institute. I checked with three separate   
starbase history comps, and with the WCG at Confederation   
Central. They all agreed with Surat's earlier findings."

"Then they are in error," Yan insisted. "My readings are   
accurate. The computer did alter its own record soon after this   
Kirk's appearance. In time, the others will concur."

"Yan, that explanation is inconsistent with everything we   
know about time displacement."

"His arrival here was by chance; there is no precedent by   
which to judge! How are we to say it is inconsistent that the   
computer should alter itself? To me, it makes sense."

She reflected briefly that Yan was behaving very much like   
a human child squirming to maintain a deception in front of a   
reprimanding parent. "All right," she said. "There is one other   
thing I'd like you to explain. The WCG tells me you spent the   
better part of the evening reading tapes of the Canopian War. Is   
there some reason why you preferred studying one of Orion's past   
skirmishes when your orders were to re-evaluate the problem at   
hand?"

Yan did not answer her, but the peculiar light behind his   
black eyes had grown suddenly, and strangely, hostile.

* * *

The feeling of helplessness plaguing Kirk was not aided by his   
discovery that the door of the room was locked. After several   
hours of pacing, his anxiety was equaled only by his boredom.   
The view from the window had been impressive at sunset, but   
soon thereafter, a self-activated seal had opaqued it, cutting   
off the Polaris night. What were they doing out there? Why   
hadn't anyone returned to talk with him? Surely they had   
questions...

Though he had tried knocking on the door to no avail, he   
tried now again, calling out this time. A voice from behind him   
made him start. "What do you require?" it asked.

Spinning, he saw that a portion of the formerly blank wall   
had come suddenly to life and was now flashing myriad colors at   
him from somewhere inside its translucent paneling. "Please   
state your requirements," it said flatly.

Shrugging, Kirk adopted an authoritative tone. "Open this   
door," he commanded.

After a pregnant silence, the toneless voice responded,   
"That is not within my programmed function."

"Then answer some questions. Tell me about the Polaris   
Institute, who runs it, what it does..."

The wall hummed. "That is not within my programmed   
function."

Sighing, Kirk sat down on the edge of the bed, realizing for   
the first time that he was ravenously hungry. "Have you another   
requirement?" the thing in the wall wanted to know.

"Yes," Kirk said absently, half serious. "A half-inch top   
sirloin, medium rare." He was so hungry he could almost smell   
steak broiling. He could smell it. Out of nowhere, a slender   
tripodal table winked into being in front of him. It was decked   
with full table service, and on the plate lay a steaming half-inch   
steak, medium rare. Though it was lost on the mysterious   
mechanism, Kirk sent the wall an incredulous but thankful look.

Another hour had passed before Kirk, nearly asleep again,   
heard the buzz of the door lock. Surat entered, wearing an aura   
of urgency. Kirk opened his mouth to ask what was wrong.

"No questions, Captain." The Vulcan's tone was almost   
severe. "You must come with me, quickly." Having no other   
choice, Kirk complied, but they were scarcely through the door   
when their path was blocked by someone Kirk had also seen   
before -- a tall, bulky Orion. He was holding a peculiar,   
transparent object in one hand in a fashion that indicated it had   
to be a weapon.

"That will be far enough, Vulcan."

Stiffening, Surat confronted him. "I do not understand your   
intention, Yan. But I know you have falsified the computer   
readouts. Whatever you plan to do, I must warn you that you   
cannot succeed."

Yan snorted. "You don't know what I'm doing, but you know I   
cannot do it. Circular logic, Vulcan. Put this Terran back in   
its cage and come with me."

Kirk understood little of this exchange, but was relieved   
when Surat made no move to obey the demand. "I will not help you   
commit a crime against history," he affirmed. The Orion bristled   
and moved toward Surat with his weapon poised to strike. The   
moment his broad back was turned, Kirk slammed the base of his   
neck with both doubled fists. Yan crumpled into a muscular heap.

"Come." With that terse command, Surat hurried Kirk away   
and into a maze of interconnecting corridors. Kirk was   
brimming with questions that he dared not ask. They had left Yan   
sprawled outside the door of Kirk's former room, had notified no   
one, had not even taken his gun from him. And now where were   
they heading? Paintings, sculptures, glass exhibit cases rushed   
past him with fleeting glimpses of ancient airplanes, spacecraft,   
model starships.

They came to a halt at last before an unmarked door, and   
when no one answered the chime, Surat opened it with some kind of   
pass card. They entered a room littered with scattered paper and   
overturned furniture. Surat hesitated, clearly not expecting   
what he saw.

"It would seem that Yan has already been here," he observed.

Kirk noticed something across the room, and, moving to   
investigate, found his worst fears realized. In the shadow of   
the upset briefing table lay the motionless figure of Dr. Paula   
Hart.

"She's been strangled," he told Surat. "Recently."

The Vulcan stared down at him, disbelief apparent.

"There must be someone you can notify," Kirk pressed. "You   
must have security."

Absently, Surat said, "I did not think him capable of   
resorting to murder."

Kirk couldn't contain the questions any longer. "What is he   
doing, Surat? If I'm going to help you stop him, you can at least   
tell me that."

"It is enough to say that if Yan succeeds, you will not be   
returned to your time, and all of history may be changed because   
of that. We must find a way to stop it."

"Then why haven't you contacted someone in authority? Why   
didn't you lock Yan away when you had the chance?"

"No." The answer puzzled Kirk little more than the   
explanation. "He has access to the WCG. We could not have   
confined him. As to notifying an authority, your presence here   
has been classified information known to a very few of us from   
the beginning. Even if we were able to inform other base   
personnel of our situation, they would very likely only try to   
prevent us from doing what must be done. Yan has falsified the   
computer record, and they would be led to believe you must not be   
returned." He began manipulating controls on a nearby wall panel.   
"I, too, can gain access. But we have very little time."

"Why?" Kirk asked. "Will this 'portal' you spoke of close?"

  
"No, Captain," Surat said without turning. "Our medicomps   
discovered a certain molecular inconsistency which, for every   
moment you remain here, is readjusting your molecular structure,   
adapting it, in simple terms, to the time zone you have entered.   
It may already have caused you some physical discomfort. We have   
less than three point seven hours to find the point at which the   
beams intersected -- the matrix -- and use it to send you back   
again. After that time, your own metabolism will make it   
impossible."

An echo ran through Kirk's head. _Our molecular structure is _  
_adjusted to the time we enter._

"And if I'm forced to stay here," he asked Surat, "then   
what?"

The Vulcan looked straight at him for the first time. "The   
matrix occurred by the narrowest of coincidences, Captain, and   
you were brought here much too abruptly to properly adjust.   
Thus, your system will be unable to accept the rapid molecular   
shift. Unless we can reverse the process, the inevitable result   
will be death."

Although he'd half expected it, Kirk found that no less   
pleasant to hear. He fell silent while Surat played experienced   
hands over the iridescent touch-controls of the console. "Yan is   
talented," the Vulcan said. "But I am the superior   
computerologist. If I can obtain an access unit, we may be able   
to..."

Abruptly, the shining black console in front of him gave   
birth to a small glossy rectangle. The thing was opalescent blue   
and radiated with a deep, inner light. A moment later it was   
followed by two metal bands, each inset with several colored   
jewels. All of these Surat gathered up, handing one of the   
unusual bracelets to Kirk. Following his lead, Kirk snapped the   
thing around his wrist, then touched the green gem as Surat had   
done.

The world went white.

In one instant, the walls of the curator's quarters had   
been there, and in the next they had been replaced by... Kirk   
shook his head to clear it, convinced he was hallucinating. The   
angular cant of the walls he knew so well, the alcove with its six   
familiar stations. All here.

"We're aboard the Enterprise!" His own voice sounded strange   
to him, but he felt a profound sense of comfort in the words.

Surat effectively deflated the feeling. "Yan will not be far   
behind us. For the moment, he is probably below establishing his   
own link with the WCG. That we must also do in order to locate the   
matrix. If he should complete his work before me, however... " He   
did not finish the sentence., turning his attention instead to the   
transporter console, where he had placed the bright blue rectangle.

Like something alive, it crawled on unseen legs to some preferred   
spot on the panel. There, looking like an oversized slab of blue   
butter on a metal pancake, it inexplicably fused itself to the   
plating. Noting Kirk's perplexed stare, Surat said, "This unit   
will tie into the starship's rebuilt computer core and will   
assimilate all information relevant to the transporter mechanism.   
When that data is correlated with the correct transversal pattern,   
it will link with the WCG and, hopefully, provide us with the   
correct formula and co-ordinates to utilize the matrix once again."

Kirk felt slightly ill. "This whole thing," he noted, "sounds   
delightfully hypothetical."

Though he said nothing, Surat's raised eyebrow indicated that   
he failed to understand Kirk's sarcasm. The mannerism also evoked   
a painful surge of deja vu. Why, Kirk wondered, did he have the   
uncanny impression that, beyond the natural similarities of their   
Vulcan racial traits, this man was so very like Spock?

Shaking it off, he indicated the addition to the transporter   
console, which pulsated now, humming to itself almost musically.   
"How long before it gives us an answer?"

"At least an hour, by my roughest estimation. It was not   
designed to operate with antiquated equipment. Our more immediate   
problem will be finding some means to prevent anyone else from   
boarding this vessel in the meantime."

Kirk had a thought. "Is the life support system operational   
all over the ship?" Surat nodded. "Then I think I can help, if   
I can get to the bridge. I'm assuming your version of a   
transporter beam..." He pulled the gem-covered band from his wrist   
and handed it to Surat as he spoke. "...still operates via matter-   
to-energy conversion."

"It does."

  
"That's all I needed to know."

The transporter room door opened sluggishly, and Kirk was   
several steps into the corridor when a wave of nausea brought him   
up short. He had to lean against a bulkhead until it had passed.   
He caught himself making a mental note to let McCoy run that annual   
physical on him some time this week. The empty hall stared back at   
him in silent testimony: McCoy would not be in the sickbay. The   
engine room would have no Mr. Scott to alternately bless and curse   
its intricate machinery. And Spock... His Vulcan first officer   
would not be on the bridge. Nor would Uhura, Sulu, Chekov... It   
was inconceivable that they could all be gone, impossible that the   
ship could be so empty. And though he had seen it deserted before,   
the Enterprise had never been as still, as neglected as this. No   
one aboard. He wondered briefly how Polaris V's technicians kept   
her in orbit with no one to man the helm. Dismissing the question,   
he moved off down the corridor.

He had to use the gangways to make his way upward through the   
decks, trying as he did so not to look at the litter-strewn rooms   
and broken equipment within. Beyond reason, he had been hoping   
that the bridge would not be like the rest, and he was unprepared   
for the sight that met him.

The once proud command center, so pristinely efficient in his   
memory, resembled the remains of a fortress after siege. Some of   
the control stations, including one at the helm, had been   
dismantled, the viewscreens were all lightless, and his command   
chair was missing altogether. Over everything, dust lay like a   
blanket of soiled snow.

Fighting back rage born of frustration, Kirk forced himself to   
remember his purpose for being here. If the computer core was   
working, then he should be able to prevent anyone from boarding.   
After maneuvering a number of controls at Spock's science station,   
which was thankfully still intact, he punched an intercom tab.

"Kirk to transporter room." The familiar words felt awkward   
and unnecessary here, but life-long habit had dictated them. "Kirk   
to transporter room," he repeated. "The deflector shields have   
been activated and will effectively prevent anyone's coming   
aboard." The intercom gave only static in reply. "If you read me,   
I'm on my way back down. Kirk out."

He left hurriedly, unable to look at the shattered bridge any   
longer than was absolutely necessary.

Resisting the temptation to stop by his cabin on the way back   
was not very difficult. Kirk was not at all sure he wanted to see   
the rooms as they had been left by some unknown successor. He had   
only just succeeded in rationalizing away his anger, on behalf of   
the Enterprise, for this monumental breach of her dignity. And   
there was, after all, no one he could blame. Many starships had   
met worse fates at the hands of belligerent aliens or some   
previously unknown space phenomenon. The Enterprise was going to   
live on, and even if that were only as an historical exhibit, it   
was comforting to know.

"Stop right there, Kirk."

He froze just inside the door, startled by a voice he had not   
expected to hear -- Yan's. Surat lay behind the transporter   
console, apparently unconscious.

"A valiant effort on both your parts," Yan performed the Orion   
equivalent of a smirk. "But I'm afraid I had to order our complink   
to lower your deflector screens again. We wouldn't want anything   
to interfere with our beam-out."

"We?"

"You're going to activate this fossilized apparatus for me,   
Kirk. I would have preferred more experienced help, but as you   
see, your Vulcan accomplice was a trifle stubborn."

Kirk shook his head. "Only Surat can operate the modified   
unit. If you've killed him, you've destroyed any chance you had of   
going through the matrix."_ And mine,_ he added to himself.

Yan looked with disdain at Surat's motionless figure. "The   
Vulcan is alive. He'll simply be unable to move for a while. And   
as I have already obtained the necessary information from my own   
link, I have already adjusted this unit. All I require from you is   
that you operate the energizing levers. Surely you know how to do   
that."

"Yes," Kirk admitted, ignoring the implied insult. "But I   
have no intention of helping you."

"I lose patience with you, Kirk." Yan gave the glass barrel of   
his strange weapon a savage twist, for which Kirk needed no   
explanation. The gesture had all the finality of setting a phaser   
to "kill." What he had not anticipated was the weapon's being   
pointed not at him, but at the prone form of Surat. "If you are so   
concerned for this one's life," Yan growled at him, "then do as I   
ask.

Kirk endured several tortured seconds of indecision, during   
which he found no option acceptable. There was one remote   
possibility... Feigning co-operation, he stepped to the console   
and stood ready, noting that Yan's green face looked sufficiently   
pleased. The gun point moved from Surat and came to rest once more   
on Kirk.

"Do not think you will trick me, human." Kirk, thinking his   
expression must somehow have betrayed his intention, felt color   
rising in his cheeks. Yan moved around the console. "I shall   
stand on the platform and you will move these three levers only.   
Touch anything else, and I will kill both of you."

Hopes dashed, Kirk allowed the question foremost in his   
thoughts to tumble out. "Why do you want to go back in my place?   
What could you possibly hope to accomplish?"

He had not expected an answer, but the Orion gave him one.   
"There is much of history I think I would set right. The Canopian   
War is not far in your future. Even as you left your ship it was   
in the making: Orions rallying to overthrow that primitive regime   
you called a Federation. I've spent a lifetime studying every   
detail of the struggle. Your ship sent early warning of the plot   
to Star Fleet. That is the first item I shall correct. With other   
changes, I will turn an unsuccessful war into one that will   
ultimately grant my race its proper position in the galaxy. And I   
think I shall be well rewarded for my services. All the wealth of   
Orion's systems could not begin to pay for the knowledge I alone   
will possess." Behind them, Kirk heard Surat begin to stir, but Yan   
gave no hint of having noticed. "Enough talk," he was saying.   
"You will be able to see it all on the history tapes in a very few   
moments."

He backed onto the transporter dais, never allowing his eyes   
or his weapon to leave Kirk, who was vainly hoping the faint sounds   
of Surat's revival would materialize into some form of salvation.   
Yan's voice commanded him from the platform. "Now."

When he had delayed as long as he dared, Kirk resigned himself   
to giving in, and hating himself for it, thrust the transporter's   
triple levers all the way forward. Choler prevented him from   
watching as the familiar whine of de-energizing matter sounded from   
the chamber. Instead, he turned his attention to Surat, who was   
trying to overcome the effects of Yan's paralysis beam. Kirk   
pulled him to his feet, following his eyes to the now-empty   
transporter alcove.

"He's gone, Surat. It's over."

He was not sure, at first, if the Vulcan had heard him. Surat   
had begun pressing invisible controls on his "complink" device,   
evoking a series of noisy responses, the last of which resulted in   
a visual display sufficient to shake Kirk out of his fog of   
depression. The blue box sent a cloud of white light drifting into   
the air above the console. Within it hovered a miniature,   
dimensional replica of the room in which they stood, with one   
exception. Kirk blinked, unbelieving. There, in that circle of   
light, were Scotty, McCoy and Spock, so real he might have reached   
out to touch them had it not been for the discomforting fact that   
they were each less than five centimeters tall.

Spock's voice floated down to him. "What seems to be the   
problem, Mr. Scott?"

The squeal of a strained circuit cut across Scotty's curse.   
"Damned if ah know, beggin' yer pardon, Mr. Spock. All mah   
indicators just went berzerk!"

  
Something glittered weakly in the tiny chamber they were   
watching. Over Scotty's muffled imprecations of the transporter,   
Surat's voice said evenly, "Something is wrong."

Kirk's anxiety juggled with his curiosity. "Is this what you   
called the transversal observation?"

Surat nodded once. "If Yan was successful in meeting the   
point of intersection and going through, he should have arrived   
there just now."

Hope sprang anew within Kirk. Hardly aware of himself, he   
reached again for the activation levers, punching the reverse   
sequence mode with his free hand. And he pulled yet another   
control -- one he had wanted to use before. This time, there was   
nothing to prevent him from placing the Orion in stasis. Slowly,   
as he pulled the levers back toward him, Kirk was rewarded with a   
re-energizing glitter. So intent was he on bringing their   
adversary back, he scarcely noticed the transversal bubble vanish   
from over Surat's head. With a silent prayer that the stasis field   
would function, he stabilized, and watched Yan rematerialize in the   
alcove.

Surat, who had moved to the platform, turned back to look at   
him with the unspoken statement that something had gone very wrong   
indeed. The figure now immobilized on the dais was Yan's. But   
even his alien features did nothing to change a facial expression   
Kirk had seen too many times before: the ghastly, panic-stricken   
contortion of muscle that reflected unsheathed horror -- frozen   
with ghoulish precision on the very point of a death scream. The   
hand gripping the gun had turned the color of a frog's underside.

Surat's gentle voice admonished, "Please turn off your stasis   
field, Captain."

Yan's firearm clattered to the deck, and like limp rope, he   
folded after it. Surat bent to touch the man's throat, but even   
from a distance, Kirk needed no confirmation that the Orion was   
dead.

"What is it? What went wrong?"

Surat looked troubled. "The calculations were correct; the   
co-ordinates accurate, down to the last detail. Nothing should   
have prevented him from getting through."

"But something did."

"Yes. Something we must assume, for the moment, might also   
prevent you. I must recheck all the equations and--"

Kirk cut him off. "We don't have time for that!" Anxiety and   
his increasing physical discomfort had made the words come out   
sharper than he'd meant them to be. But Surat, already busy back   
at the controls, appeared not to have noticed.

"We have one hour, forty-four minutes and seventeen seconds   
remaining. The WCG should be capable of correcting the error in a   
fraction of that time."

Chagrined, Kirk stood back. He wanted desperately to walk out   
of here, down a corridor teeming with crewmen; to catch a turbolift   
to his quarters, take a long, hot shower, and sleep. Sleep until   
this ache in his insides went away and he could wake up from this   
distracted quirk of a nightmare once and for all.

Ninety of the longest minutes in his life dragged by, but the   
look of concern never vanished from Surat's otherwise impassive   
face. He had fed information through the computer link four times,   
and four times, he had received identical answers. The same   
answers Yan had received.

His body had been removed to a far corner of the room, where   
neither Kirk nor Surat had taken any further notice of it until the   
Vulcan at last left the console and approached it, bewilderment   
knitting both brows in a way Kirk knew all too well. "I am at a   
loss, Captain. By every factor the WCG is capable of tracing, this   
man should not be dead."

The pain worse, Kirk fought to keep a level voice. "But he   
is. And if your computer can't tell us why--" The thought   
arrested, Kirk fell silent. Something tickled his memory, playing   
with it but refusing to come all the way forward.

"Captain?"

Kirk's answer, long in coming, was succinct. "We've got to   
try it anyway."

"I think that inadvisable. You could be inviting certain   
death."

"I could. But it's less certain than I'll have staying here.   
Let's just say I have a feeling."

"You would risk you life on a feeling?"

_Sometimes a feeling, Mr. Spock, is all we humans have to go _  
_on._ He remembered a time, long ago, when a small animal had lain   
dead on the transporter plate. His life had depended on a feeling   
then, too. And though he'd couched it in terms of theory, the   
feeling then had been Spock's: a feeling that said Kirk would be   
able to survive in spite of physical evidence to the contrary. He   
answered Surat's question. "Do I have a choice?"

"We have seven minutes twenty-four seconds until you become   
incapable of crossing the matrix. I can attempt to recalibrate--"

"No. Thank you. You already did that. And I appreciate the   
help you've given me." He wanted to ask why Surat had taken such an   
interest in his problem, but refrained. He hoped it was no more   
than he himself might have done, were things reversed. "We'll try   
it my way."

"Captain, I must point out that if you are wrong, your death   
could alter history as drastically as Yan might have done."

That had not occurred to Kirk. But it did remind him of   
something else. "You spoke earlier of certain metabolic   
adjustments the body would have to make in order to physically   
traverse time."

"Yes."

"You also said the intersection of beams was a fluke -- a one-   
in-a-million accident. Maybe Yan failed because he wasn't meant to   
go through the matrix. What if everything had to be exactly the   
same for the process to occur again, even in reverse?" He hoped the   
argument was stronger than it sounded.

"Your hypothesis is credible, Captain. I might even say   
admirable. Unfortunately, there is only one way to learn if it is   
provable."

"A risk I'm more than willing to take. Particularly since I   
can't say I'm fond of the alternative."

Part of an intangible wall, which Kirk had never consciously   
realized had existed between them, seemed to crumble in that   
instant. "I think, Captain," Surat said quietly, "that Commander   
Spock was wise to respect you as he did. I have always wondered   
how a Vulcan could purport to admire human logic. Now, I believe   
I understand."

The insight took Kirk by surprise. "You talk almost as though   
you'd known Spock."

"We met once, briefly, when I was very young. I have...   
studied... him, by observing the transversal images, for some time.

And I have always wished that I had known him. You see, Spock was   
the reason I have made Star Fleet history my area of study. The   
interest was, in part, genealogical."

Kirk had been about to say that he had missed something when   
Surat continued. "Senan," he said, "was the father of Suris, who   
through many generations begat Solkar, father of Skone, whose son   
was Sarek. Sarek was the father of Spock, and Spock was father   
of..." He paused, deliberately omitting a name. "...she who was my   
mother."

Kirk closed the mouth he had allowed to fall open. "Spock was   
your gr--?" The concept was boggling enough to leave him   
speechless.

"It is perhaps a breach of precaution on my part to have   
spoken of this. But I surmised you were due some small   
explanation."

Kirk smiled, recalling a phrase with which he had once   
reassured Spock. _"I haven't heard a word you've said. But... _  
_thank you."_

"Now, Captain, if you'll take a position on the platform."

Kirk did so, noting that the transversal image had begun to   
reform in the air above Surat. Unlike before, it remained   
indistinct, and he was trying to locate something -- anything --   
familiar in it when the giddy sensation of dematerialization   
overcame him and the transporter room faded out of existence. In   
its place, a million shards of broken glass flashed past him in a   
maelstrom of electron motion. The familiar free-fall illusion of   
the transporter was suddenly protracted into one breathless rush   
down a bottomless well of light, and like a bad dream, Kirk found   
he could neither cry out nor move in any direction. Then, as   
quickly as they had come, the lights winked out, leaving him   
hurtling through utter darkness, until...

"Captain?"

Were his feet touching something solid again? He thought he'd   
heard a voice, and he could breathe again. Kirk opened his eyes.

"Jim, for god's sake say something. Are you all right?"

McCoy. Bones, with a whirring mediscanner in hand, standing   
here, on _his_ Enterprise. Kirk almost hugged him.

"Sorry fer the trouble, Cap'n." Scotty spoke from the console.   
"Somethin' -- damned if ah know what -- tried to grab the beam away   
from us."

"Are you quite all right, sir?" Spock stood beside Scotty,   
precisely where Surat had been -- or would be, a century from now.

"I'm fine." Command came back into Kirk's voice. "Scotty, get   
to the bridge. Tell Uhura I want a priority one call put through   
to Star Fleet Command, on the double. The Orions are planning   
something I think they'll be interested in knowing about." He came   
off the platform, nearly tripping as Scott left the room. McCoy's   
hand shot out to steady him. Kirk laughed. "Bones, later today I   
think I'm going to let you make that annual check-up you've been   
hounding me about for so long."

  
The ship's doctor released his arm, frowning. "I was about to   
suggest it."

Kirk waved him out. Reluctantly, McCoy obliged.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Mr. Spock?"

"May I ask to what Orion activity you refer, and how you   
chanced to learn of it here on Polaris V?"

Kirk did not answer him immediately, and his contemplative   
gaze made Spock shift feet uncomfortably. "Sir?"

"What? Oh, yes Mr. Spock, of course you can ask.   
Unfortunately, I don't think I can explain just now. I uh.. have   
to go talk to Star Fleet." But the Captain's feet did not move to   
leave the room, and Spock would have liked very much to escape that   
bafflingly accusing stare. Moments later, Uhura's voice broke the   
silence.

"Bridge to transporter room. Captain, Star Fleet Command is   
standing by."

"Yes, thank you, Lieutenant. I'll be right there." Kirk moved   
to the door, delighted when it opened onto a corridor bustling with   
motion. He turned back for one last look at his first officer   
before disappearing into the mainstream.

The door whispered shut, leaving behind one thoroughly   
mystified Vulcan, avowing,not for the last time, that he would   
never understand the peculiar behavior patterns of the human race.

\-- End --

See all of my fanfic and links to my pro fiction at <http://jeangraham.20m.com.>  



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